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by Goose41
Summary: Prompt by Dancer Traveler Dreamer: Established Flynn/Vega and a lazy day off. Summary: Angie solicits Oscar's help in shopping for new furniture. This piece has them already together, but flashes back to before they were together. One-shot.


**Home**

_Goose41_

Prompt by Dancer Traveler Dreamer: Established Flynn/Vega and a lazy day off.

Summary: Angie solicits Oscar's help in shopping for new furniture. This piece has them already together, but flashes back to before they were together. One-shot.

Author's Note: The characters, and the premise upon which they are based, are certainly not mine. I merely use them for the entertainment of myself and others. This work, and the others on the site, are labors of love by the authors in which we offer the reader a huge piece of ourselves. Please note that reviews are our only payment and encouragement for us to continue writing. A great big thank you to those of you who take the time to read and review! Suggestions and feedback are always welcome.

Author's Note II: Check out the Motive forum for communication between fans of the show (viewing parties!).

Pairing: Venn - Oscar Vega/Angie Flynn

Category: Romance &amp; Friendship

Rating: K+

* * *

The aroma of fresh squeezed citrus floods her senses. Gently escorting Angie further out of her semiconscious state, the bright scent only helps accentuate the full-bodied flavor rolling over her tongue as she steals a sip from his glass. She can't remember the last time she had anything other than coffee in the morning, and it's a nice change. Crisp. Refreshing. A comfortable silence is broken only by soft scratches of the spatula across the metal frying pan.

Hoisting herself upon the counter with the elegance of a diver emerging from the water, she leans towards her companion to inspect his handiwork."What is that?" she inquires, nose scrunching at the sight of sparse greens swirling amidst the clouds of egg yolk. She's one hundred percent certain she hasn't purchased any leafy greens lately, if ever.

"Spinach," he replies with a feather light brush of his lips against the wrinkles of her frown. The touch, his atonement for the heinous crime that is healthy cuisine. "You could stand to eat a vegetable every now and then," Oscar adds, flipping the omelet with ease.

Sure, practiced movements coupled with his barefooted presence in her kitchen transform the frown into a soft smile. This new found domesticity actually feels familiar, as if it has always been this way, comfort pooling in her stomach and warming her from within. "I eat vegetables," she protests weakly, pinching a bit of the shredded cheese into her mouth. He scoffs at her claim, reminding her that he's well aware of her eating habits. "Mmm," she hums, "I really do. In fact, I just ate a healthy lunch yesterday."

Oscar doesn't argue, merely shooting her a skeptical look. If the candy wrappers were any indication when he returned to the precinct with Lucas, Angie worked through her lunch while she awaited their return. "Snickers may have protein, but it hardly qualifies as healthy food, Ang." Sliding the savory omelet onto the awaiting plate, he starts another one with just cheese for her.

"Ah, yes, but chocolate comes from the cocoa plant, therefore, I essentially had a salad." Scooping at the cheese once more, her motions are stilled when he snatches her wrist; encircling her wrist with flexing fingers, and pulling it towards him. Beneath the heat of his hand, she can feel her heart beating wildly at his touch. The sensation is nothing new, but the ability to enjoy it openly is; no longer feeling the need to hide her reaction from him or anyone else.

His grip is light, she could break through easily. "There won't be any left," Oscar scolds, unable to keep a straight face as her nails ghost over his palm, eyes bright with silent laughter. He struggles not to drown in the deep blue gazing back at him, smiling widely as her touch travels up over his shoulder and tugs him into her. Warm, full lips meet his in a sound kiss, and then she's gone before he knows what hit him. No surprise there; she's had him reeling from day one. Turning back to the task at hand in a daze, his attention snaps back to the present as her voice echoes back to him.

"Don't let that burn or I'm eating yours," she calls out from the living room.

Placing the juice on the edge of the table, she curls her feet underneath her as she immediately pulls the comics from the paper in front of her; chuckling softly at a _Dennis the Menace_ strip, old habits die hard. A few distracted moments later, she feels the couch dip under his weight as he joins her. Biting back a smile, Angie watches him fall for her bait when he purposely replaces the glass onto a coaster in the middle of the table. Half of the fun is watching him respond to her habits, idiosyncrasies deeply ingrained in both of them after years together that translate well into the shift in their relationship. Reminiscing as she eats, she remembers when ordinary evenings filled with dinner, wine, and case files off the clock grew into extraordinary late nights of enjoying each others' company.

* * *

_Angie throws her head back against the cushions, huffs of laughter fading on her lips as Oscar finishes recounting his horrible experience of being an awkward teenager during his first time. Smiling nostalgically as he stares at his sock covered feet next to hers on the coffee table, they're the picture of relaxation; jostling his knee with her own as her painted toes tangle with his. A contented sigh escapes her lips as she lounges next to him. Sitting side by side, they've practically melted together into the middle of the couch, sharing a cushion as they press up against one another._

_Rolling his head to watch her, Oscar's smile softens. It's late, the dim room alighted by the lamp next to him, and he can't help but stare. The golden ringlets framing her face bounce while his chest tightens at the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears, and he knows; he knows that there's no possible way he can leave this evening without telling her how he feels. After all they've been through, they deserve honesty; even if it kills him, she needs to know that he can't get this - this feeling of being home - out of his head when he leaves each night because home is now here, with her._

"_What?" she asks, and he realizes he's been staring too long. Swallowing past the knot that's formed in his throat, he lifts a hand to brush her hair back, shaky fingers tangling in blonde curls. The pad of his thumb catches the shell of her ear, flushing bright red under his scrutiny. Momentarily dropping her gaze, she looks up again and he just catches how the bright blue of her eyes cloud over against the incoming storm of desire. The pads of her fingers brush against the hollow of his neck and tickle the flesh at his open collar before she leans heavily against him, mouth hot under his. _

_Welcoming the kiss, his lips part to deepen the connection as her tongue brushes his bottom lip seeking entrance. He thought he would be content to study the contours of her lips for hours, but the flash of heat as her mouth opens to him immediately tells his brain that's not enough. Angie is willing, and eager, fist snatching the lapels of his shirt as she leans back against the arm of the couch; pulling him on top of her as she goes. Lungs burn as they part for air; one hand dragging down the length of his spine, tugging the tails of the white linen loose from his waist._

_The tendon straining from the soft flesh of her neck catches his teeth as he rakes his hands across her hips, her hand catching in the hair at the base of his neck to hold him in place; tongue darting over her pulse point. Warm palms sweeping up under her blouse send her jumping at his touch; a flailing arm catching the narrow lamp base, knocking it off center, pitching precariously as the shadows of the room shift about them. With still hands, he awaits a crash that never comes, peering up from the center of his attention at her collarbone._

"_Whoops," Angie whispers, stifling her giggles unsuccessfully, sobering quickly as she feels the weight of him above her. The symbolism of the pressure isn't lost on her; the gravity of the situation bearing down on them, as their relationship waits on the verge of irrevocable transformation. The intensity of his stare bores into hers, hazel piercing through the blue, and she can see every moment between them up to this point etched into his face. The pain she's caused, the inside jokes they share, the pride he holds as he calls her his friend - it's all there, written clearly in black and white. _

_Nimble fingers work at his belt without blinking, and he should not be able to look at her with such tenderness when his zipper is halfway down between her fingers. "Angie, wait -" he chokes, her name guttural at the back of his throat; stilling her with his voice as his fingers wrap around hers. "This is it for me," he whispers, "if we do this, you'll be my last first time."_

_She's not sure if it's the words, or the sincerity of his voice, but she feels her throat constrict as her heart beats wildly in her chest. If this were anyone else, she'd be fighting the urge to run, but with him it's different - the jump in her heart rate is excitement, the thrill of adventure. Her eyes dance over his face a moment longer before wrapping her legs around his hips, securing him to her as her lips claim his once more._

* * *

The pads of Oscar's fingers massaging her scalp pause, briefly causing her to squint through half-lidded eyes in confusion up at her partner. Content with a full stomach from a gourmet breakfast, the plush comfort of the couch and the warmth of his thigh were all enough to start lulling her back to sleep until his voice breaks through the silence.

"How about this one?" he inquires, adjusting the advertisement so Angie doesn't have to move from her position in his lap. He's purposely chosen this particular table just to get a rise out of her, knowing that she'll hate it. The page crinkles, popping under its own weight, as he points to a rectangular glass-top table in the middle. Poking his nose over the edge of the paper, Oscar watches her squint in confusion and frown in dislike; an expression he's always found endearing.

"Hmm?" she hums, peering up as the sun glows around him. The table in question is too modern for Angie's taste, too contemporary with its steel beams; "too many prints," she mumbles under her breath. For a moment, she thinks she's in the clear, but it doesn't last long when she sees Oscar's eyebrow quirk; blushing furiously when she sees his eyes squint. The ad may be covering his face, but she knows that grin better than she knows her own reflection. "Oh, shut up," she scolds.

He was mocking her. She wouldn't need a new dining room table if it weren't for him, and he had the nerve to mock her. Granted, the old one didn't match at least half of her new furnishings, and was already falling apart, but that was beside the point; wasn't it? The fact remained that the old table was not up to the task of keeping up with her new lifestyle, or her new boyfriend, quite frankly.

Pulling the advertisement out of his hand, and tossing it over her shoulder, Angie sits up quickly and spins so she's straddling his lap. The new position gives her the advantage as he looks up at her, chin level with her chest as her fingers splay where his chest meets his shoulders. "I could do the cleaning," Oscar offers, only half-teasing. With his hands resting at her lower back, he feels her breath hitch and shudder out of her lungs at his insinuation. After all, he already spends more nights at her place than he does his own.

His grin only widens when she rolls her eyes in response, looping a curl around his fingertip to draw her lower for a kiss. Her mind stutter steps at first, quickly catching up with his as she tosses her response back; "If that's the case, you pick out the one you like," her words whisper softly across his lips. Her tone is playful, flirtatious as she teases him with her lips, but she's entirely serious. She doesn't know how to have these conversations, how to invite him to make this his home, too, but he knows her well enough to read between the lines.

Rolling her her hips towards him, his palms slide up the length of her torso, pausing to brush over the swell of her chest. Staring up in reverence, his eyes never leave hers while cradling her scalp in his broad hands before crushing her lips to his. Every thought in his mind scatters the moment her tongue tangles with his, heat coiling in his stomach as he shifts her forward. The momentum startles her. Biting down on his bottom lip, her fingertips fist tightly in the cotton of his navy t-shirt when she feels herself pitching backwards as he stands.

"Think they have matching coffee tables?" he asks jokingly, zeroing in on the ticklish spot on her neck, which elicits a shriek in delight. The sound reminds him of her laugh that night when he first shared her home so long ago, regardless of furniture. With a rapid heartbeat and sweaty palms, the arms that clung to him tightly amidst the grey skies of early morning, she invited him into her home of a heart long ago, and he swore he'd never leave.


End file.
